The Man who Missed the War by Dennis Wheatley Page A

who are thenatural Master Race, will at last come into our own. Every other race will either submit—or be liquidated. France, Holland, Belgium will give us little trouble. The Balkan countries are too ill equipped to offer any resistance, and it is so long since the Scandinavian peoples went to war that they have forgotten how to fight. In Europe that leaves only Britain; and you British are so stupid you will not even have the sense to realise the hopelessness of fighting—so we shall have to wipe you out. Don’t think either that your Raft Convoy would have saved your country. It was a good idea, a very good idea, but as your proverb says: “One swallow does not make a summer!” Also, even quite a number of clever young men are not enough to save a country which allows itself to be led by a lot of old men who think only of party politics. That is where we Germans have been so wise in abolishing political parties for the National Socialist State. Above all, we have our mighty Fuehrer to lead us. …’
    Almost as though some invisible presence were standing beside him and had whispered a warning in his ear, Philip suddenly felt convinced that, worked up as Eiderman now was, when he reached the end of his peroration he would exclaim:
‘Heil Hitler!’
and simultaneously press the trigger of his gun. Philip knew that the sands of his life were running out.
    The German’s words, fast increasing in tempo as his voice became louder and more guttural, were now lost on him. He still remained near the door, tense and rigid, his eyes riveted on Eiderman’s, no longer with fear but with a strained vigilance, as he waited for something—he hardly knew what—to happen.
    Suddenly the sign he watched for came. Eiderman’s eyes flickered, his voice rose almost to a scream and he threw up his head. At that second Philip cast himself forward, lunging out with every ounce of strength he could muster behind the heavy turnscrew. The distance between them was too great for the blow to fall on Eiderman’s head or body, but the attack was so unexpected that he had time neither to pull back his gun nor squeeze the trigger. The rounded brass head of the turnscrew caught him on the thumb, and he dropped the pistol with a screech of pain.
    If Philip had had more experience of such desperate fighting, he would have followed up his advantage by beating down theGerman’s guard and stunning him. Instead, he rashly dropped his weapon and made a dive for the automatic. At the same moment Eiderman plunged forward in an attempt to retrieve it. Neither succeeded in his object; instead, they crashed into each other and rolled over together on the floor.
    For the next few moments they fought with silent ferocity, each struggling to get a stranglehold on the other’s throat. Physically, they were fairly evenly matched. In height and weight there was little to choose between them. Philip had the advantage of age as he was nearly thirty years younger than his antagonist, but he had never gone in much for games and was soft in comparison to Eiderman, who had spent the best part of those thirty years as an officer in the German Navy.
    Backwards and forwards they rolled, only to be brought up with a bump, owing to the confined floor space in the cabin. First one was on top, then the other. At last, Eiderman managed to straddle Philip and, his white teeth exposed in a snarling grin, began to bash sideways at his face. Philip took two smashing welts on the left ear, which momentarily stunned him; then, exerting all his strength, he threw the German off. Eiderman promptly kicked him in the face, but, fortunately for Philip, he was wearing soft bedroom slippers.
    They were panting now as they strove to get a new grip on each other. The sweat ran down their faces and both were marked from blows. With a great effort Eiderman pushed Philip off and staggered to his feet. As he stepped back he kicked the iron turnkey, which gave a metallic clang as it slithered